


When Everything is Wrong, We Move Along

by Sohotthateveryonedied



Series: Whumptober 2019 [30]
Category: Batman (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, I couldn't curb my angsty instincts, Introspection, Local Girl Can't Make Things Happy, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Tim Drake-centric, enjoy my children, feast on the angst and fluff melded into one like a melted CD, it's not even a real hug, prompt: embrace, this wasn't supposed to be sad I swear!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 19:21:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21258353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sohotthateveryonedied/pseuds/Sohotthateveryonedied
Summary: Tim thinks there might be something wrong with himHe’s pretty sure, but the evidence is fleeting and insoluble. It’s impossible to determine whether his fears are rational or if his bone-deep paranoia has simply reached torrential levels.Heshouldknow, right? If something were off. If something deep inside his soul has been charred beyond salvation, he would feel the decay.(All of the tragedy in Tim's life is his fault so let's see how this goes.)





	When Everything is Wrong, We Move Along

**Author's Note:**

> Day 31: Embrace
> 
> Finally, the end of Whumptober has arrived!!!! I hope y'all had a GREAT month and that my contributions made you cry because, after all, 'tis the goal. Happy Halloween!! 
> 
> (Title from Move Along by All American Rejects)

Tim thinks there might be something wrong with him  
  
He’s pretty sure, but the evidence is fleeting and insoluble. It’s impossible to determine whether his fears are rational or if his bone-deep paranoia has simply reached torrential levels.   
  
He _should _know, right? If something were off. If something deep inside his soul has been charred beyond salvation, he would feel the decay.   
  
Does the fact that he _can’t _feel it mean everything is fine? Or that he is simply blind to his own shortcomings like a horse in opaque blinders; refusing to see anything but what lies up ahead?  
  
He’s tried calculations. Statistics. Mapping and graphing and cataloging and any other form of pattern analysis he could think of until his head spun in spirals and not even Alfred’s chamomile could settle his jumbled nerves.   
  
The chink in the mold is that Tim is a detective. For him, the truth is supposed to be a comforting thing. Solving a tough case is supposed to feel like a wash of ice water after a trek through the desert. In the past, it brought him only satisfaction to match an answer to his clues.   
  
He felt it when he discovered Dick Grayson was Robin, and again when he linked Bruce Wayne to Batman. Solving mysteries is what Tim _does—_it’s one of the few things he is actually _good _at, as far as anyone is concerned.   
  
So why does the truth have to hurt so badly this time?   
  
Because the only constant in the constant loop of tragedies in his life is Tim himself. He is the link. He is the variable out of place.   
  
Mom. Dad. Conner. Bart. Bruce, Damian, Dodge, and all the rest. Steph faked her death to get away from him. Dick faked _his _death and didn’t think Tim was important enough to let in on the ruse.   
  
Tim’s parents never wanted him. They saw the rot that lay inside and fled as far as they could get.   
  
And as much as he tried to hide it, it was clear from the start that Bruce would have much preferred Jason over Tim. Bruce didn’t even _want _Tim as Robin in the first place. Tim shoved himself into the role like a piece from the wrong puzzle, sheering its edges just so it would have a place to fit.   
  
Is Tim in the wrong puzzle?   
  
Did he glue himself into the wrong place?   
  
Jason and Damian loathe every bone in his body—Jason less so, but Tim didn’t miss the resentment in his eyes every time he saw Tim in that Robin costume. Red Robin is more tolerable, but does that tolerance extend to Tim Drake as well?   
  
During quiet conversations under smoke-veiled stars, Jason often describes himself as poison. An acidic, corrosive poison that infects everything it touches and inflicts pain on even the most pristine people.   
  
But Tim’s poison isn’t like that. It’s subtle. It’s slow-moving. Like molasses, his poison creeps under closed doors and thickens the air, pushing away anyone who gets too close. And it works. It pushes people away once they realize that they can do _better _than Tim.   
  
Why waste time with a ghost’s replacement when you can have the original? Or a successor better than Tim could ever hope to be? Why stay at home with a bratty kid when ancient artifacts in Zambia are calling your name?   
  
And then there are the foolish ones who push past the barriers. Who see some imaginary light and climb over the barbed fence like a moth to a bug zapper, unaware that the fatal zap is coming.   
  
And when the zap does come, over time Tim stops finding it a surprise. It’s just a fact of life now that those who make the mistake of getting close to Tim will suffer for it.  
  
So he pulled himself away, for a while. Red Robin is his chance to start anew. Cut ties with those he has left because the only way to stop the bloodshed is to remove the variable. Sever the bond that serves more death sentence than love.   
  
He knew they would grow to understand eventually. Dick pleaded with Tim not to leave—to come back home with him because “We can get you _help.” _  
  
But there is no helping Tim. The poison frothing in his veins is too strong. At the time he thought, at least he could be content knowing that he kept the others safe.   
  
_Don’t you see? Loving me is a death sentence. Look at all the graves, the ghosts testifying the same truth. _  
  
And yet, even when Tim tried to do good and keep others away from the poison, he _still _slipped up. Because he’s unlucky. Because he can’t stop disappointing himself.   
  
Tam got close, and she nearly died for it. He put her through so much, and for what? So she could learn the lesson that touching Tim Drake is dangerous? That it’s best to run while you still can, before he gets you killed?   
  
Maybe he was born to be alone. Maybe by becoming Robin all those years ago Tim cheated the system, and this is the world’s way of making things right.   
  
He questions himself, even now. As he sits on the counter in the manor’s kitchen, stacking blueberries if only because he needs something to keep his hands busy. A distraction from the turmoil within his traitorous mind that insists on pushing the spiral with every new cognition that filters in.   
  
He knows he should leave again. Soon. Because if he doesn’t, then who will be next? Alfred? Cass? Duke? Who else will Tim kill with his poison? Who’s next up on the universe’s proverbial hit list?   
  
“Tim? You okay?”   
  
Bruce is peering over his coffee mug—(decaf; Alfred has set a caffeine cap for them both)—at Tim, the cogs rolling in his brain nearly audible.   
  
“Fine,” Tim says. “Why?”  
  
“You’re doing that thing again.”  
  
“I don’t do a thing.” He pops a blueberry in his mouth after deeming it too round for the tower.  
  
Bruce’s lip quirks. “You’re thinking. Your eyebrows squish.”   
  
“Maybe I’m just practicing my Clayface impression.”   
  
Bruce rolls his eyes, but it’s fond. Ever since he came back, it’s always fond. He gets this twinkle in his previously-assumed untwinkable eyes every time they have so much as a thirty-second conversation about compost.   
  
If Tim lets himself think about it too hard, he can almost imagine that Bruce missed him as much as he did.   
  
He doesn’t let himself get that far.   
  
“What’s on your mind?” Bruce asks.   
  
_Just the fact that I’m apparently cursed and anyone who associates themselves with me should turn and run the other way. _  
  
But he can’t say that. Admitting the truth would make it real. Would make Bruce realize that _yes, Tim is poison, _and he’ll get smart and heed the warning. And as much as Tim knows it would be right to warn him, he also doesn’t think he’ll be able to handle it if Bruce leaves him again.   
  
Tim Drake is selfish.   
  
“What do you think would have happened if I hadn’t shown up that day?” he says instead. “When I bullied you into making me Robin, I mean.” Because he _is _curious, which makes it only a half-lie.   
  
Bruce considers it, swishing around his sorry excuse for coffee. “I imagine I would have snapped out of my funk sooner or later. Dick would have come back to Gotham for a while to help out. Stephanie would still maintain her identity as Spoiler and become a hero in her own right. Damian would have become Robin sooner, and all of the others would carry on in the same way they do now. And you…”  
  
He looks at Tim, eyes soft. “I imagine you would be graduating high school right about now.”  
  
“Sounds like you’ve thought about it a lot.”  
  
A shrug. “I’ve had time.”  
  
Tim purses his lips. Another blueberry is added to the stack, meticulously placed with nary a wobble. “Do you think it would have been better?”   
  
Bruce frowns, almost like the question offends him. “Of course not. You’re part of this family. Things wouldn’t be the same without you.”  
  
_Except. _  
  
Except from the way it sounds, everything _would_ be the same. Steph would still have become the hero she is today, only without Tim blocking her path. Dick would only have to wait a bit longer for the little brother he always wanted. Damian would be happier with no competition standing between him and Bruce’s love. Everything would have slotted right into place.   
  
The only thing that would change for the _worse_ is that Bruce would have been without a Robin until Damian joined the ranks. But is that really so bad? Tim was just a kid when he told them that Batman needed a Robin. Could he have been wrong?  
  
What if Dick had stepped up? What if some other kid with a camera decided to knock some sense into the Batman? What if Bruce really _could _have gotten through the rough patch on his own?   
  
If Tim were just a normal teenager, his father would be alive right now. Probably all the others, too. Every single person Tim has touched—would things be different if they’d never met? The Flash has explained time and time again how the slightest nudge can have major consequences on the time stream and the events that occur within it. Was Tim the nudge?   
  
_Things wouldn’t be the same without you._  
  
Tim kicks the cabinet behind his heel, thumping it against the wood in a steady tempo. Thump. Thump. Thump. “Yeah.” _Maybe. _  
  
Bruce takes another sip of coffee and makes a face, glaring into the mug. “That’s it, I give up. Where does Alfred keep the rum?”  
  
Tim flicks open the cupboard over his head. “I won’t tell if you don’t ask why I know where this is.”   
  
“Deal.”   
  
As Bruce passes, he smacks Tim’s socked foot and is met with a kick to the leg. He takes a bottle from the collection and pours it generously into his coffee until it’s roughly thirty percent alcohol.   
  
Tim tips forward until his forehead is pressed against Bruce’s solid shoulder. “You like me, right, Bruce?”   
  
“I’ll do you one better, pal.” Bruce wraps one arm around Tim and holds him tighter while the other stirs his coffee. “I love you.”   
  
Tim hums. He closes his eyes and focuses on the warmth of Bruce’s hand through his shirt, rubbing circles into his back. “You sure?”  
  
“Mm-hm.”   
  
Tim exhales. “Thanks.”   
  
And it’s not a hug. Not really.   
  
But it helps.   
  


**Author's Note:**

> Me: "Embrace? What a fluffy prompt to end whumptober on a nice note!"  
Me to me: "What if you made it sad tho."
> 
> Thank you SO MUCH for reading, especially to those of you superstars who stuck around for this whole series!!!!! Hope you all have a fun Halloween!!!
> 
> [Feel free to mosey on down to my Tumblr!](http://sohotthateveryonedied.tumblr.com/)


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